


What Makes an Assassin

by Madin456



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Assassin - Freeform, Gen, Killing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 05:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6182500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madin456/pseuds/Madin456
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killua Zoldyck is not handsome. Not in the least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Makes an Assassin

**Author's Note:**

> I think I read something like this in a different fandom, so this story is inspired off that. If I ever find it again, I’ll be sure to add it in.

Killua Zoldyck is not handsome. Not in the least.

His eyes are a gentle mixture of blue and green that results in a beautiful teal colour, but they are hard and cold and menacing and they betray the gruesome thoughts that sometimes pass through his mind. As cynical orbs flicker around and narrow at anyone in his line of sight, it’s not hard to see that he doesn’t trust easily—doesn’t trust at all. He is always calculating, always analyzing, but never forgiving.

His face holds a controlled neutral expression most of the time, but when he smiles, there is a hint of insanity in the way his lips curl up as the madness inside of him leaks out for a moment. People are scared of him when he smiles, he can tell, even more so than when he stares into the eyes of his victim in complete, eerie silence.

He is pale—pale from so much time spent locked up in the dungeons of the Zoldyck mansion. It’s unhealthy, how little his is exposed to sunlight, but he doesn’t do anything about that because, well, he _can’t_ , and assassins are only truly alive in the dark, anyway.

His clothing may be casual, but they are over worn and they, too, hide secrets. Fifty kilogram deadly yo-yos are stuffed deep inside the pockets of old, wrinkly shorts that have been with him through all the beatings he took. They’re washed, occasionally, but that isn’t nearly enough to mask the scratches and stains that have accumulated over the years.

Underneath his plain white T-shirt, his body is a map of scars and bruises and the places where Illumi and Milluki have chosen to punish him. A large cut spreads across his back, a memento from all the whippings he’s received; it once ripped apart his flesh and peeled off like a bad case of sunburn, and after all this time, although the injury has closed up and healed noticeably, the scar is still very much visible. It is inarguable that his _Nen_ is powerful, but the only reason he is able to zap electricity from his fingertips is because of the torture he had to endure as a child.

(Sometimes, when Killua swallows, he can still taste a lingering sensation of the poisons he had been forced to inject into his body. It doesn’t affect him anymore, of course—it hasn’t affected him since he was ten—but it’s left a bitter taste in his mouth that he doubts will ever go away.

As a result, he doesn’t eat much anymore nowadays; he chooses not and it’s not like he needs to. He doesn’t sleep much either, because daytime is for him to put on an act and pretend that he’s normal while nighttime is when his usually numb body actually _feels_ something.)

And his hands—oh, his hands. Callouses and swollen skin contaminate long, thin fingers. With a flick of his wrist, he is able to control his muscles and veins to form claws with nails as sharp as a blade. It’s these very hands that have plunged through numerous bodies, squeezed beating hearts until they burst, and taken so many lives that his palms will forever be stained in crimson blood, even after he so desperately tries to scrub it off with soap and water. A layer of dirt resides underneath his nails and it’s not pretty, so he hides them in his pockets where no one can see them—where _he_ can’t see them.

And yet, young girls and older women alike still swoon over him, still allow themselves to be charmed by those murderous teal eyes and that malicious smile. It’s not that they don’t see the broken boy inside torn-up clothing; it’s just so _easy_ to believe that he’s whoever he claims to be: a tourist who just happened to pass by, a hunter out to bring justice to the world… even though his blatant fabrications of reality couldn’t be further from the truth.

He has a way with words, but not like how Kurapika can calmly reassure others in a soothing tone or how Leorio is able to list off facts to help ease the situation. Every sound that comes out of Killua’s moth is different and meticulously planned. He can manipulate people into doing his bidding with sugar-sweet lies and empty promises, or he can have them running for their lives with threats and low growls and a few lethal strikes to prove that he means business. He can talk his way out of being a suspect for a murder case even when there is fresh blood on his hands and no one else is around for miles except the lifeless corpse on hard cement without breaking a sweat—not that he’d ever let himself be caught in the first place.

Somewhere deep inside, Killua knows that a part of him undeniably likes the assassinations, likes the thrill of chasing victims who make a futile attempt to prolong their life. He doesn’t know when it started, but recently, he’s been thinking of death as a _solution_. What better way to get rid of an annoying person than to silence them forever? It’ll only take a second, he justifies; a quick, fluid swipe of his hand and there will be a head rolling on the floor.

Being a good person is hard, he realizes. Having strong morals is _hard_.

Despite leaving his home on Kukuroo Mountain, separating himself from his upbringing, learning to feel alive and understanding what it means to preserve other lives, and meeting Gon, the purest person he’s ever encountered, he knows that there is no changing the intent to kill that grows inside of him. He will always be an assassin at heart.

So no, Killua Zoldyck isn’t handsome, not in the least, but if that’s what other people choose to believe, then he certainly won’t go out of his way to correct them. Deception is the first step in getting people to trust him.

And after all, as Illumi’s always said, _assassins don’t need friends._


End file.
